


Ghosts of Busting Past

by clusband



Category: Hiveswap
Genre: Explicit Consent, Fingering, Gender-neutral Reader, Humor, Mentions of sexual health, Other, safe sex practices
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:20:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28424607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clusband/pseuds/clusband
Summary: MSPAR learns two things: these aren't condoms, and those aren't safe sex practices.
Relationships: Mallek Adalov/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 32





	Ghosts of Busting Past

**Author's Note:**

> Prompted from my tumblr! Prompt: "I bought these glow-in-the-dark condoms and I have no one to use them with, are you busy tonight?"
> 
> When will I get the award for least sexy dialogue? I'm really pushing some boundaries here lol.

Everything feels unreal under the harsh, fluorescent lights of the corner store. The buzzing of the drinks cooler, the immaculate shine of the floors, the condoms stocked proudly and shamelessly underneath the slushie machine.

There’s a joke to be made there about slurry. Your eyes follow the spin of the cerulean slush, hypnotized.... and then down to the box of condoms beneath.

Okay, so maybe you aren’t one hundred percent sure they’re condoms; Alternian slang still mystifies you. But, come on! Checklist: small, square box; suggestively shaped images; illustrious, smokey title announcing “Empire’s Finest Latex Protrusion Protectants ( _subtitle: lie back and think of the heiress_ )”. And this one bears the distinctive, ghost-busters green that all glow in the dark things do.

Two words: fuck. _**yes**_. Or perhaps: fuck you. Fuck someone? Fuck is essential to this two word structure, that’s all you know.

Without a second thought, you’re whipping out your palm husk. Even on earth, buying condoms gave you some background sense of embarrassment; your phone allows you the grace of looking like you’re too cool to be pressed about your imminent getting laid.

Also: it allows you to send a few hasty texts.

 **MSPAR:** I bought these glow-in-the-dark condoms and I have no one to use them with, are you busy tonight? 

**Mallek:** what the hell = a condom;

 **Mallek:** actually; i don’t care; come over anyway;

 **MSPAR:** It will be fun, I promise! I always love to teach you new and exciting concepts. 

**MSPAR:** Just as well that you’re a _hands on_ learner.

 **Mallek:** heh;

 **Mallek:** wait; are you being suggestive; 

**Mallek:** like; on purpose;

 **Mallek:** is_flirting = True  
is_sincere = False

if is_flirting  
print (”[flirtatious remark];”)  
else:  
print (”ill order pizza;”)

 **MSPAR:** new and.......

 **MSPAR:** ......

 **Mallek:** and;

 **MSPAR:** ........ _exciting_ concepts, mallek 

**MSPAR:** ;)

 **Mallek:** oh;

 **Mallek:** should i order a pizza anyway;

 **Mallek:** what flavor goes best with “condom”;

For a moment, you’re left horrified. Your own matesprit, ignorant about safe sex? The feminist in you is horrified. Although, in retrospect, pregnancy has never really been an issue, and your time with Marsti has proven to you over and over that troll diseases and your diseases aren’t exactly on speaking terms. You wonder, then, what the hell it is you just purchased three boxes of. 

___

Mallek is fist deep in his own pizza by the time you get to his hive. Why he orders deep-dish every time you get suggestive with him you doubt you’ll ever fathom. Stress response, maybe. Pavlov’s confused and horny sauced-up pizza. Who knows. 

No need to waste time. You dump the Empire’s Finest onto the table before grabbing a slice of your own.

“These aren’t condoms,” you say, between impulsive bites of pizza. On second thought, it should have hit you earlier: what’s phallic on earth and what’s phallic on Alternia is hardly a venn diagram. He huffs a laugh, reaching for the boxes in front of him.

“Duh. Says it right on the box,” he replies, picking one up and tapping the key words. “Protrusion Protectants. Heh,” he stops to consider something. “Don’t know what makes them the empire’s finest. Because they glow in the dark, maybe.”

Before you can formulate any snappy one liners- there’s something there you can use to dunk on Lanque- he rips open the box and pulls out the world’s smallest condom for somebody’s minuscule dong. Dunking on Lanque is officially back on the table.

“What the hell is that,” you say instead as he opens to foil and shakes the protrusion protectant at you, menacing. You can hardly believe you’re giggling with your matesprit like a five year old at these.... protrusion whatevers.

“Didn’t you tell me _you_ were going to teach me these fun and exciting concepts?” he teases. “Go on then, teach me.”

With that, he throws an unopened package to you. While you examine the package- looking for relevant instructions would only ruin the game, but a diagram might help- Mallek keeps on talking.

“Always thought it was fucked these things only come in one size. Concupiscent preparedness class always told us they stretched, but that’s bogus. I mean, have you seen the size of some clowns’-”

Mallek is a genius; you’ve just made an amazing discovery. These things don’t just stretch, they fucking transform. You have both hands pulling the rim in either direction and-

It snaps. Well, it’s not like that was going anywhere; bulges are longer than the P.P. is, anyway, so it obviously isn’t used like a human condom.

You open a new packet and stretch one over one of his horns.

“Not the kind of body mod I had in mind, babe,” he says, not unkindly. 

“I’m a little lost,” you admit.

“Here,” he says, and then he’s pulling his pants down. He’s still sheathed. It’s the first time you’ve seen him like this; the moment is made peculiar and intimate at once. He mutters something into his palmhusk and the lights dim.

“I’m going to lie back-”

“And think of the empress?” you ask, smirking.

“And think of _you,_ dipshit. Come here.” Despite his words, his tone is bubbly with laughter. 

He pulls you down with him. Around his body, his hoodie pools like mist. His sweatpants at down at his knees and you get a hint of his black-and-white checkered boxer briefs at the waist band.

Without a word, he pulls the last protru- good lord, what a mouthful, you’re just sticking with condom from here on out. He pulls out the last tiny condom and then grabs you by the wrist. He sticks your finger in his mouth, enveloping it in his tongue, before scraping his teeth along the skin as you pull it out. With that, he’s rolling the condom down over the digit.

Oh. Duh.

The condom glistens with more of that ghost-busters green. Seems that even the lube glows in the dark; you can’t wait to see how long Mallek’s nook will be doing the same.

He brings your hand down to his crotch, not with any particular direction or intent. Suits you; for all that you’re starting to feel the heat low in your belly, Mallek’s not quite there yet. Blood rushes to his sheath, but his bulge is still held fast behind it, and his nook is only slightly flushed cerulean.

“Flushed for you,” you say as you trace the lips of his nook. His sheath twitches in interest. “And I see your nook is flushed for me. Can I press in?”

“Play with my nub first,” he sighs, throwing his head back as you do just that.

You take your time just... touching. After applying another 'condom' to your middle finger, soft caress of your fingers against his nook has him sighing and throwing his head back. It's not necessarily sexual- in fact, he seems more relaxed and sleepy than anything at the moment- so you take that mood and run with it, hoping that you can turn up the heat as you work.

You draw a spiral from the center of his nub, then drag your finger up around his sheath- a heart, because you’re feeling sappy- before continuing your trail up and under his hoodie.

“That’s meant-” he groans as you tease your lube wet finger against his nipple. “That’s meant to keep your pizza-grubby fingers away from my sensitive nook. The intent is advertised to keep nook walls safe from sharp claws, but avoiding yeast infections is a bonus, too.”

“I love when you talk about yeast infections while I’m feeling you up. Got anything about UTIs in that big brain of yours? Maybe the safest way to pass a kidney stone?”

“At least I paid attention in concupiscent preparedness class. How do you not know what a finger cot is?” 

Finally, a colloquialism.

“Turn the lights off and I’ll show you everything I’ve learned,” you lean in and kiss him on his neck. His hoodie combined with his rising body temperature has left his skin clammy and salty with sweat; you can vaguely feel him kicking off his pants beneath you. He mutters _lights off_ to his phone, and then he’s wiggling out of his hoodie,

With the lights off, you can confirm that this is, at the very least, the empire’s finest glow in the dark lube. Bright patterns in ethereal green grace his skin like vines on an ancient statue. You grab a new box of finger cots and apply a fresh one to your index and middle finger.

When you return to his nook, you find that his bulge is starting to make an appearance. Still, you go back to teasing his pleasure nub, shifting to bring your face to him and lapping up what genetic material you can find. The mix of the glow in the dark lube and his cerulean turns to mesmerizing sea foam. As your lips meet the lips of his nook, his bulge curls- heavy and present- around your wrist, almost as if to finally guide you where he wants you to go. You smile, eyes closed, against his nook as you feel this with him.

It's quiet, Mallek limp and stretched above you. You take your time to explore his body, for once unhurried in your desire for him (his impatient bulge be damned). Curious fingers explore every angle of his nub- underneath, how he twitches away (that's a no, then), then pressed on either side, cushioned by the skin of his equivalent to labia majora as you quirk your fingers, up and down, first slowly then quickly tuning into the sighs and sounds of his body. By now, his bulge is blocking any attempt you might make to the top of his pleasure nub, so you stroke affectionately along the bottom ridges as you make your way to his tip.

He's amped up enough that his pre-cum clings to your fingers like spider silk. You play him like a symphony, enjoying each needy groan as you tease his tip and moisten your finger with his naturally occurring lube, relishing in each impatient huff as you trail down his bulge, and feeling every surprised gasp low in your belly as you find his nub again. You place a soft kiss to the lips of his nook, and he's gone.

For now, he’s has enough of your teasing and starts bucking his hips in search of more of your fingers. You pull back to wipe at your mouth, and then you sink two fingers into him, easy. He huffs a breathy groan, relieved and begging for more all at once. With a quick shift of your body over his, you find leverage. For now your world narrows to your two fingers working in his nook, your thumb against his nub, his hand gripping your bicep, and his bulge curling and pulsing around your forearm.

His orgasm is a perfect parenthesis; his back bowing one way to bring his forehead to yours before bowing the other way as he releases his tension.

He looks away for a moment- contemplating another slice, perhaps- then laughs a sleepy laugh, wiping his brow with the back of his arm. He pulls something up from off the ground. The last box of finger cots, though the box is a little wider. Typical. Some things span universes; people never put the condoms back where they’re supposed to go.

From within this new box, he pulls out a glow in the dark glove.

“So, what exactly did you have planned for this evening?”


End file.
